truth

myq in the afternoon (in april)
curvature at metal-blackened hands … and there he was looking lost,
looking as if he was
the blackbird in
the blackbird pie for dinner (though all the blackbirds departed). He
made me sad. Not
morose or
melancholy just rung, hung – sad.

amber (in may)
afraid of the
love
(the sadness)
and the shadows that cling
to his open eye-sockets

antony (in july, in portugal)
his Portugal
a sinking indent of rubber
a mouthful of Blackjack gum;
it’s beautiful,
the perfect location.
he remembers it vividly,
the Portugal of his swollen mouth
the perfect location…
it’s foreign hard candy.

perry (in august)
where do i begin?
i can’t make reason of you {ohdearohmyohgod}
… you’re remarkable

thom (in january)
you smell like stale black coffee
(comfort)
you sound like recorded cigarette laughter, sometimes

nicholas (in february)
isolation is a skittering of small claws
and you can hear it.